Page 17 of All the Ways You Save Me
I give him a sideways smile. “Oh no, not your favorite pen.”
His grin widens.
“It’s nice to see you, Madeline,” Layla says, heading for the door. “Can I get you some coffee or water?”
“No thanks, Layla.”
She leaves the room, and I can hear her heels tapping down the hall.
Jason takes me in his arms and presses a kiss on my lips. “Thanks again for driving me to the airport. I could have taken a rideshare, but then I wouldn’t get to see you one more time before I have to spend a whole week away from you.”
He’s headed to Mexico to tour a factory that will be producing some sort of computer chip that goes with some other sort of device his company distributes. Honestly, I don’t really understand the specifics, and Jason assures me it’s pretty boring. When he first told me about the trip, I’d suggested going with him, but the factory is in a small town in the middle of nowhere, a nine-hour drive from the city on narrow bumpy roads. I agreed it didn’t sound quite like how I want to spend the first week of my summer vacation.
“Did you finish getting your classroom packed up?” he asks.
“Yep. Summer break has officially started.” For some reason, my melancholy over Brooklyn and her friends going off to college slips back in. Every fall, my former students move away to start their lives and go on exciting adventures, and I’m…
I’m still here, on the same treadmill, year after year.
I shake my head as if that will dislodge my negative thoughts. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve wanted to teach ever since I was a high school freshman, and my English instructor, Mrs. Friedman, noticed I’d finished our reading assignment in one night instead of the week she’d given us. After class, she handed me a pile of books she hoped I’d enjoy, and I foundThe Joy Luck Club,A Thousand Acres,Beloved, and so many more. We lost touch after I left Sandy Harbor, but I’ll always remember her influence. Now I get so much joy from helping kids discover their own love of reading, and I know that when they leave Maple Ridge, they’re going off to see the world they first encountered in books.
Maybe I’m just feeling anxious about all the changes happening in my life this year, and what they mean about really and truly settling down in Maple Ridge. Jason bought his parents’ house when they moved to Florida a few years agobecause he wants his kids to grow up in the same safe, gated community he did. I’ll be moving in this summer. And he’s been working for this company since he returned from college, logging promotions and raises each year. The business owner treats him like a son, and I suspect he wants Jason to take over when he’s ready to retire.
I can’t help but picture an expanse of golden sand and beach grass rippling in an ocean breeze. That image was a fading, sepia-toned memory until yesterday when it came raging back into my consciousness in high definition.
I used to believe that someday, I’d move back to the beach. Maybe not Sandy Harbor, but someplace where we’d be barefoot all summer, track sand in the house, and meet our neighbors and friends for beach bonfires.
I take a deep breath to tell Jason how I’m feeling, but before I can say anything, there’s a knock on the door. I look up to find Jason’s boss, Waylon, filling the doorframe. He’s an older man, maybe close to sixty, tall and imposing, with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and sharp jaw. He’d be a little intimidating if he didn’t know how to turn on the charm, which he does now when he spots me standing by the couch.
“Madeline, it’s so nice to see you.” He crosses the room to take my shoulders and kiss me on the cheek. “How are those young minds you’re cultivating?”
“I’m just sending a new crop of them out into the world this week,” I say.
“You should be so proud.” He turns to throw an arm around Jason’s shoulder. “Jason, now that Madeline is on summer break, you need to bring her to the house for drinks. Sandra just finished the pool cabana and patio, and she’d love to show it off.”
“That sounds lovely,” I say. We’ve been by Waylon’s house a number of times over the years. His wife, Sandra, doesn’t work, and if the salary Waylon pays Jason is any indication of the success of his company, she doesn’t need to. Sandra isalways immersed in at least two renovation projects on their Italianate-style mansion in an even more exclusive gated community than the one where Jason lives. It’s set on a hillside by a lake and attached to a country club and golf course, where Jason often joins Waylon for dinner and a few rounds.
This conversation reinforces how settled Jason is here in Maple Ridge. Marrying him means giving up on my dream of living by the ocean. But I knew it when I said yes to his proposal, and we talked about finding a beach rental that we could return to every summer, maybe in Florida near his parents. It seemed like a good compromise.
It seemed like enough.
Waylon heads out, and I sink onto the couch, mentally replaying my messages with Tyler this morning. How did a guy who looks just like Adam end up on the beach where I grew up? The beach that I loved more than anywhere? The questions have my head spinning, and it takes me a minute to realize that Jason is talking to me.
“Hey,” he says gently, sitting on the cushion next to me. “You okay?”
I blink and focus on the concern on his face. Jason was there for me during those first terrible months after Adam’s death. He showed up every day to coax me out of bed and drive me to school, and it was thanks to him that I managed to graduate on time. I chose Penn State for college because the effort of going far from home felt daunting, and he called me every night from his dorm room at Princeton and drove in to visit every other weekend. He was sweet, patient, never pushing me to get over it, even long past the point that I probably should have. He waited for me, for years, because he loved me so much.
And when I finally kissed him on my front step, when I finally invited him in, when I finally said, “Yes, I’ll marry you,” I knew a part of me would always love Adam, but I was ready formy heart to heal. I was ready to move on and to start something new with this man who had been so good to me.
So how can I tell him that I haven’t been able to think of anything but Adam since that surfer ran across Brooklyn’s phone screen? How can I admit that the ghost of my lost love still haunts me?
“Jason,” I say, haltingly. “Can we talk about that video from yesterday?”
“You mean the video of ‘Adam’?” With a half-laugh, he makes air-quotes around the name. “Are you still thinking about that?”
I nod slowly, my stomach churning. “I reached out to the guy who streamed the video.”
Jason’s smile fades. “Are you serious? You’re pursuing this?”
